One of the first things that struck me this morning when I left was that it was cloudy outside and that sometimes cloudy days are the best days to take pictures. It was, in many ways, a typical Florida summer morning, humid, muggy, with clouds that might stick around or might burn away with the sunrise.
But there was also a little, a tiny, tiny amount of chill in the air that gave me hope that maybe summer might be winding down, though we all know the warm weather will be with us through November.
I stopped at the store first to pick up some cat food and water. The cashier commented that the only people she sees out this early on Saturday are the golfers. I told her I was a photographer and so began what I can only describe as a God-inspired conversation.
I told her about my project, 365 Days of Hope, how I drove out to Hope Episcopal Church every morning and took pictures of the grounds, mostly. I hadn't even gotten to the specifics of why I was doing this when the cashier revealed something very personal about herself.
Years ago, she told me, she had suffered from depression and one day she was out walking when she noticed a small yellow weed growing in the crack in the sidewalk and she said it was so beautiful, this weed, that it got her through the day.
So I told her my story, about having an autoimmune disorder, about the difficulties in just getting outside and how going to Hope and taking these pictures and being in the presence of God helped me get through the day.
She said, "I don't know how anyone can look at nature and not believe in a Creator."
I invited her to Hope. She had mentioned that she goes to a local park to sit and rest and I told her that the grounds at Hope are open seven days a week. There are benches, I told her and a prayer labyrinth and it's all just one street away from here.
It was a profound moment for me. When I started this project, I had no idea where it would lead, or what might happen. I left that to God. But now I'm seeing that this project that I thought would be confined to Hope has affected me and in turn affected others outside of Hope.
And I thank God for that blessing.
But there was also a little, a tiny, tiny amount of chill in the air that gave me hope that maybe summer might be winding down, though we all know the warm weather will be with us through November.
I stopped at the store first to pick up some cat food and water. The cashier commented that the only people she sees out this early on Saturday are the golfers. I told her I was a photographer and so began what I can only describe as a God-inspired conversation.
I told her about my project, 365 Days of Hope, how I drove out to Hope Episcopal Church every morning and took pictures of the grounds, mostly. I hadn't even gotten to the specifics of why I was doing this when the cashier revealed something very personal about herself.
Years ago, she told me, she had suffered from depression and one day she was out walking when she noticed a small yellow weed growing in the crack in the sidewalk and she said it was so beautiful, this weed, that it got her through the day.
So I told her my story, about having an autoimmune disorder, about the difficulties in just getting outside and how going to Hope and taking these pictures and being in the presence of God helped me get through the day.
She said, "I don't know how anyone can look at nature and not believe in a Creator."
I invited her to Hope. She had mentioned that she goes to a local park to sit and rest and I told her that the grounds at Hope are open seven days a week. There are benches, I told her and a prayer labyrinth and it's all just one street away from here.
It was a profound moment for me. When I started this project, I had no idea where it would lead, or what might happen. I left that to God. But now I'm seeing that this project that I thought would be confined to Hope has affected me and in turn affected others outside of Hope.
And I thank God for that blessing.
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